My Brother's Keeper
by Anna M. Phoenix
Summary: A look at Bane's relationship with his loyal henchman Barsad.
1. Step Forward

**Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.**

**Author's note : I am still continuing the Gotham is Ours story, but I also found myself very interested in the Bane/Barsad dynamic although we didn't get to learn a lot about them in the movie. So, I decided to write some snippets about their association. I don't know how many I'll write before I feel it's complete, but here is the chapter on how they met.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**I. Step Forward**

When Ra's al Ghul banished Bane from the League of Shadows, four men dragged him in the snow and left him, half-naked, a kilometer down the mountain, without medicine and his mask heavily damaged. He had painfully crawled in an opening in the rocks, to protect himself from the chilly wind. There he sat, leaning on the rock, waiting to die – knowing he wouldn't be saved this time.

His hands fumbled at first to reattach the broken tubes, but to no avail. The pain and the cold were paralyzing his fingers. He waited what he thought would be his final hours and remembered his life. He didn't remember the days before Talia's birth in the Pit – nor did he care to, for it was with her that he truly began to live. The image of her transforming face throughout the years almost drew a smile from his lips, despite the agony.

He noticed movement, but didn't move. He saw a figure approach him in the night. He wouldn't have been hard to find; one just had to follow his trace in the blood-specked snow. The wounded man's heart swelled immediately at the fantasy that it could be Talia; even if it were a pain-induced hallucination, he would endure it.

It wasn't Talia. Despite his vision being blurred by the water in his eyes, he was able to recognize that the man was one of the League's mystics. The old Bhutanese man approached carefully and started to reconnect the tubes on the mask. He changed the circular analgesic canister and stepped back, drawing a knife and adopting a defensive position, while he let Bane breathe in his salvation.

Bane could see him more clearly now, his wits were returning but his body had been so battered, not only by Ra's attack, but by the subsequent pain after the mask had been broken, that he remained slouched against the rock.

"The daughter of the Demon's Head pleaded for your life," the mystic stated simply.

Bane jerked and sat up and the mention of Talia, his eyes becoming feral.

"Ra's al Ghul does not want you to die, so he has accepted," the man continued. "He is forever grateful that you saved his only daughter, but you must part from her."

Bane's head swung towards the direction of the League compound.

"I am to return, alone," the man said. "Else, you will then die... after watching her," He stated matter-of-factly. Bane could not afford to believe that Ra's al Ghul would not kill his own flesh – in fact, it wasn't difficult to believe otherwise.

"You are excommunicated," the man pressed on. "Here, you have enough for a month," he said as he opened a large satchel with analgesic canisters. Here is the address of a man who can supply you with more. Keep some of the canisters," the man added when he handed the note to Bane.

Bane's large hand grabbed the feeble man's wrist and yanked him towards him.

"How is she?" Bane growled.

"She is unharmed… and will remain so unless you come back," the old sage answered, his voice starting to quiver. This was not a man who feared many things, but he had to tremble when he saw the light go out of Bane's eyes as the large man realized he would have to let the girl go. The mystic knew of their attachment, even before they had been discovered and exposed; he knew the bond would not break, but he also knew Bane, as beastly as he was, would not endanger her and would disappear for her sake. Bane's eyes, though, became devoid of life, as if death had entered him nonetheless. He let go of the mystic's arm and took the satchel.

The night was cold and his limbs were frostbitten but he figured he could find clothing in the village he knew was about 20 minutes away, now that he could see the surroundings. He could endure while breathing in the gas, though it could not soothe the pain he now felt in his heart.

He left without another word.

* * *

Bane had tracked down the address in India and had found a chemist who had refilled the canisters. The man didn't have the means to make the flat circular containers, so Bane would have to come and visit him for replenishment. He also gave Bane a tank, which could also be used to dispense the drug intravenously, when Bane needed to take off the mask. It was clunky and inconvenient and made him dangerously vulnerable, but he had to do it when he consumed food, which he always mashed up into a pulp, since his tender esophagus strained to swallow.

Bane soon became a mercenary and worked for the very filth he had trained to eradicate (a temporary measure, he had told himself while planning to bring his own judgment eventually). When his employers asked where he came from, he always answered: "hell on earth", but he didn't give details and no one dared to ask for any.

He had been making his way through Northern Africa for months now, through deserts and villages, his face always covered, as much to preserve is anonymity as to protect his mask from the sand. He traveled mostly at night, going from town to town and from job to job. It wasn't hard, a few demonstrations of strength was all he needed to show to get employed, his faux deferent attitude allowed his employers to think they had gotten themselves a pet lion; they were too blinded by their financial superiority to realize how insignificant they were to Bane. He asked a steep price for his services, in order for him to ensure the production of his drugs, which he kept a secret. He only stayed to make enough to periodically go back to India and replenish his supply, and often left at night, without a word, sometimes after killing his employer (sometimes his entire entourage).

He had come to a small Algerian town a few weeks ago to work for an exiled warlord who was trying to move guns in the region. As before, he secured employment easily. With his training and tactical mind, which he never revealed out right either, Bane was a natural leader but these weren't his men, he knew that; these were merely hired guns looking for money or just a means of survival. He needed men who would have belief, independent thinkers who were looking for a cause, not mere sheep.

He thought about this at night, about his plan to purge the world, as he sat by the small fire he made before going to bed. Those were the only moments he allowed himself to think of Talia, since the warmth of the flames and the memories they kindled overpowered the constant pain of hollowness he felt in his chest.

He started finding mercenaries looking for a purpose, and giving them one. He got them to get hired by the same warlord, who did not know they were loyal to Bane.

* * *

Barsad had been an elite sniper in an army he had long forgotten and had been living in the winds for five years, after an incident had forced him to abandon country and family. His skills with arms and with languages were useful to would-be dictators and revolutionaries, and they paid well, but he loathed them. He only saw their selfishness, their own greed for self-aggrandizing, no matter what they proclaimed.

One day, as he was drinking in a tavern, he saw the masked man come in. A hulking figure with a confident stride, who's face was half-covered with a black mask from which tubes sprouted out, looking like a metallic spider over his mouth. His breathing was accentuated and his eyes were sharp. Barsad had heard of the man and of his ruthlessness, but he hadn't anticipated how calm and composed he would be, since he expected a wild thug.

Bane was holding his bulletproof vest as he surveyed the men in the tavern. He stopped a few seconds when his eyes fell on Barsad. Then, his surprisingly booming voice started filing the air. "I am looking for skilled men. I will give you employment for a lifetime. More importantly, I will give meaning to your life again."

People remained silent, no one daring to speak up. Bane took a few more confident steps in the room. "I offer brotherhood to those without brothers." A few men were starting to snicker beneath their breaths but Bane paid no mind, he simply observed the scene some more. He gazed at a few, like Barsad, who had ever so slightly straightened their backs in attention.

"You will no longer serve guileless masters who put all of their faith in money. You will take back what is rightfully any man's birthright: true justice." The tips of his four fingers surrounded his thumb as he moved his hand up and down during his explanation, while he gestured broadly with his other hand.

The man was a born orator, Barsad thought. He spoke nearly perfect Arabic, with an expansive vocabulary. His voice had a joyful intonation, completely contrasting with his physicality. That made his speech all the more fascinating.

There were a thousand questions to be asked, but no one dared. "The corrupt must be dealt with without pity, only true innocence must be protected. Once that innocence is gone, only the true and strong should survive to fight for the ideal of a better world," Bane continued.

Finally, someone half-drunkenly asked: "And how much money will that give us?"

Bane turn towards the man, who already started fidgeting in his seat, obviously regretting he had spoken out loud.

"There will never be a shortage of money to accomplish our task, but money is a rotten mistress and you have to be able to burn it, just like any other depraved individual, in the fire of liberation we shall start."

The man gulped down noisily as Bane looked down at him and said flatly: "You are not such a man as I seek."

"What will your employer say when he learns you've been recruiting outside the ranks?" A tall muscled man asked, advancing and puffing his chest up like a rooster with every step, while sporting an arrogant smile.

Barsad couldn't be sure, but crinkles around Bane's eyes seemed to indicate he was smiling broadly when he approached the massive man who had called him out. Though the other man was a bit taller and broader, Bane showed no discernable fear, except for the twitching of his hands – but Barsad felt that the twitching was not out of nervousness, but of anticipation.

"How will you tell him?" Bane asked of the man.

"If the price is better than what you are offering", the man said smugly.

"How will you tell him..." Bane repeated, " without your trachea?" he finished as he grabbed the man's throat firmly and ripped out his windpipe, eliciting some of the other men to flee, and some to go for their guns – like a gruff man to Bane's side who quickly aimed at the masked man's head, but fell face down, once Barsad's bullet lodged itself between his eyes.

Bane looked quickly back to the dead man, and then back to Barsad, his eyes smiling again despite the cold they emanated.

Bane didn't ask, he commanded: "Step forward, those who would follow and live with purpose." Four stood up and walked up to Bane without hesitation, while the rest of the crowd cowered. Barsad put his sniper riffle on his back and took a step forward.


	2. Burn It

**Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.**

**Author's note : Thank you so much for the great response so far, I hope it continues to hold your interest. I also hope I got the gun part right. I've only been at a firing range once, so I'm no expert - feel free to let me know if you do know something about it.**

**Thanks!**

* * *

**II. Burn It**

The Moroccan warlord looked over Barsad with his upper lip curled up. Bane was standing by the man's side, holding his vest and looking in Barsad's general direction, showing no discernable emotion.

Bane had brought two of the men he had recruited in the tavern to this exiled warlord three weeks ago, then he had continued recruiting for his Brotherhood while creating vacancies during his official missions for his employer. Bane instructed his men to offer their services individually, in order to avoid drawing suspicion about their acquaintance with one another.

Barsad had just strolled up to the estate's gate to find employment as a sniper. It was a remote mansion just outside Algiers, accessible by a long dirt road and it was heavily guarded. The young sharpshooter had calmly let the guards disarm him and point their weapons at his face before they brought him to Bane. The imposing man with a mask looked him up and down, with no hint of recognition. The guards handed Barsad's sniper riffle to the masked man and he appraised it dispassionately, then he made a quick movement with his head so the group would follow him. He brought Barsad in front of the pudgy, middle-aged Arab man, who sat like a peacock in an ornate chair behind a huge black desk made of heavy carved wood.

"A sniper," Bane told the arms dealer before taking position to his left and turning around to look at Barsad.

"But, do we need a sniper?" the warlord asked with a raised eyebrow. Bane looked at him briefly and nodded, before adding: "Let the man prove himself."

Barsad had remained stoic but somewhat relaxed and he didn't tense up following Bane's words. His lips stretched in a subtle but cocky smile and he answered: "I will need my riffle".

Bane shook his head, took a single-action revolver from a table behind him and threw it to Barsad, who caught it with two hands. "Six bullets," the big man told him.

Barsad hadn't expected the gun change-up and knew the pistol would skew his accuracy, as he hadn't shot one in months. He wondered for a fleeting instance if Bane wanted him to fail, but took it instead as I gesture of faith.

Barsad studied the weapon – he'd have to cock it each time... this test wasn't just for show, Bane wanted him to prove himself. Barsad took out three copper coins from his pocket and held his hand upfront to show them to his observers. The warlord sat up and looked at one of the guards. The man took the coins and nodded. Barsad then threw them high over his head and pointed the gun towards them, while his other hand slid down over the barrel to control the hammer. Everything fell silent but his breathing; his heartbeat slowed down and his eyes creased as he held the gun steady and looked at the lowest coin, got it in his sight and pulled the trigger, cocked the gun again, then waited a millisecond for the second coin to fall into range, and finally the third one. It all had been done in less than 10 seconds, but his mind had slowed it down to minutes. Time went back to normal speed when Barsad lowered his pistol, took out the three remaining bullets and threw them on the table and told Bane: "Three bullets," with a smile.

Barsad thought he saw a twitch under one of Bane's eyes. The warlord was quite amused by the young man's impertinence. The marksman went to fetch the coins; two had been hit in the middle and were completely warped, and the third had been severed in half. He walked up to the table and dropped them in front of the Moroccan who started laughing and looked at Bane. "Bane, take him in," he ridiculously ordered. The intimidating man simply blinked and quickly nodded.

* * *

A month later, Bane and the warlord's men (among which now nine were of the Brotherhood) had secured the route and the exchange for the guns. The warlord was most pleased and the men living in a wing of his estate had access to large spreads of food and as many women as they wanted every night. Bane never partook in such largesse. Though they enjoyed the food, the men of the Brotherhood mostly shun the women as well, since Bane, during their nightly training, had told them of the weakness of the flesh – how it unbalanced the soul to give in to lust because of mere biological imperative. Their leader did not enforce his view on this, but few of the brothers succumbed to their desires and, when they did, they were discreet and made sure it did not interfere with their work.

Barsad had long been without the warmth of another's body, but he didn't miss it; he had purpose again, and that ignited him. Though distant and cold, Bane showed genuine interest in the training and progress of each man and was a born teacher. He made one want to please him. He used words with verve but also prized economy during his speeches – every word having real meaning, just like every action would. At night, the Brothers, who had learned to embrace the shadows, left the estate to go back to a nearby forest and train with the others. They learned various martial arts but, mostly, how to be one with the dark, how to move like spirits, and how to mold themselves to their surroundings. Each lesson was no more than a few hours long for those in the warlord's employ. Their Brotherhood now counted about two dozen individuals, and several stayed in a village and trained most of the day. Bane quickly appraised each one of them before they all started exercises that had to be done in silence; Bane's voice was the only sound that resonated among the stifled breaths. They were too far away for discovery, but silence – like darkness – had to become their ally.

* * *

A few more weeks passed. They had come back from a long 19-hour day, during which they had escorted a convoy of 50 cases of weapons from Algeria to the Tunisian border. They had bribed the border police, but soon had to fend off a failed hijacking by a rival arms dealer. They lost three men, one of them a Brother. The eight-men crew that attacked them was easily slaughtered, despite the lost, and the transaction was completed with the buyer soon afterwards. Back in Algeria, Bane had brought four men with him to bring the loot to the Moroccan warlord while the rest of the men showered.

Barsad was holding himself on the tiled wall with one hand, his head tilted down as he let the spray wash down on his neck, then down his spine, and between his cheeks before covering his thighs, calves and feet. Water embraced his face with liquid hands and started dripping from his nose and chin. He felt as if he was being cleansed of a huge weight and embraced by purity.

He inhaled slowly and straightened up, brushing his hands to his face, massaging his trimmed beard. He then turned his back to the wall. He opened his eyes and noticed some the men busily crouching towards the wall in apparent modesty. It didn't take long to realize Bane had come in, walking slowly, his shoulders following his stride, overshadowing everyone – every inch of him proportionate to his overall girth and size, which put most men to shame, and others to lust. Barsad didn't look away like the others and took inventory of all of his muscles, noticing how graceful he still was despite being so huge, how the old scars on his shoulders and back (now almost the same color of his skin) made his otherwise perfectly sculpted form seem more real. Bane never talked of those scars; he never seemed ashamed of them, but was never boastful either, and Barsad guessed that the memories would reveal pain beyond that of the body. Bane's torso had a few cuts and scratch from today, so did Barsad's. The sniper's much lighter frame, though muscular, bruised more easily, and he had purpled on various places, but he felt no shame of his bruises either. If there was a place where one could have identified the brotherhood, it was here... where they were bare, yet felt no vulnerability and didn't feel intimidated by Bane's unmatched masculinity, because they were men who had been deemed worthy to walk in the shadows with this magnificent giant... unlike the hired sheep that belong to the warlord.

Barsad's eyes met Bane's, but the latter gave a quick look, then walked to a shower and started washing, making sure the mask wasn't directly under the spray – that was easy enough with Bane's height – but not averting the splashing either. The metal must have been rust resistant.

By the time Bane had finished washing, most of the others had retired to the banquet hall or their rooms. Only members of the Brotherhood remained. Bane shut off the spray and so did they all. They all got dressed and left in different directions, but met up 10 minutes later outside the gates. Bane had a large case he carried, but it didn't slow his movements. They made their way by foot for 20 minutes, then they uncovered a jeep hidden under a tarp. Barsad drove expertly to the Brotherhood camp, deep in the forest. A fire was burning, the rest of their brothers waited in a three-line formation.

Bane walked along them to the fire as the men that arrived with him joined ranks and turned towards him. Their masked leader opened the case and took out large stacks of Algerian dinars and put them in almost thirty piles in front of his recruits, leaving the case more than half-full.

"Brothers," he said, pointing towards the case, "we have enough to proceed with the next phase of operations. We will, this week, be able to get rid of our _employer,_" he pronounced with obvious disgust. "You have before you, your personal shares..." He looked at the eyes of all of his converts. The pile of each one was more than enough to last months for a man. For Barsad, it was more than he had made in his last four jobs combined.

"But, I ask you brothers to relinquish this fortune. As I told you, we have enough for our mission. You will be fed, armed and clothed and we will pursue our destiny together. Personal wealth is a trap that I urge you to recognize and disarm. Look at this money for what is: your enemy. We can use it, but never let it command us. Brothers, I ask you to burn it."

There were a few twitches among the rank, but Barsad knew no one would defy the instruction. This time, he was the first one to advance. He grabbed a pile of bills and threw it in the bonfire, sending the flames higher, while the crackle became louder.

He looked at Bane, who met his gaze. The mercenary's cheeks were not raised in a smile, but his eyes had a flicker of contentment. Barsad smiled and turned to his brothers, pointing to the loot at their feet, "Burn it Brothers".


	3. Warranted Compassion

**Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.**

**Author's note : I've been aiming more subtlety in that I don't think either of these guys would overly explain everything, but I hope their emotions and personality come through the actions. Thank you for your continued support!**

* * *

**III. Warranted Compassion**

"Failure due to stupidity and cowardice is unacceptable," Bane had told them. "One cannot make promises in combat, and setbacks, injuries and falls are to be expected. However, I equally expect that you will fall because of unforeseen causes and that you will rise again if you can." He marched between the ranks of the men who had assembled before sunrise about a kilometer from the warlord's mansion. Today, they would overtake him, take his weapons, money and vehicles and establish base there for the time being. Each time their masked leader passed by one of his men, the Brother would look him directly in the eyes and nod. "If you flee or act foolishly and put your Brothers or the mission at risk, you will be shown no leniency and I will kill you myself," he stated matter-of-factly, not to strike fear – though it surely did – but to impress his expectations of members of the Brotherhood.

"Our Brother, Salim, has identified three men he feels would be worthy of joining our ranks," Bane declared, pointing to a rugged middle-aged man who had studied psychology in his youth and whom Bane seem to respect more overtly than the rest. "He will make contact with them during the melee and offer them a choice," Bane continued. "The rest are to die."

"Including the women?" A young Brother asked. Bane swiftly nodded.

The eight that were in the employ of the Moroccan warlord went back to the mansion, while the rest of the Brotherhood snaked it's way around the gate, waiting for the strike time.

* * *

The dawn sky was still grey when two of the Brothers moved in on the guards at the gate and silently slit their throat. They opened the gate and the two dozen-strong force of the Brotherhood sped in. Another man was awake and saw what was happening. He was promptly killed but he had time to yell out and alarm the rest. The warlord's army was soon raining bullets on the intruders in the front yard. Barsad, who was called to arms with the rest of them, followed but instead took out the gunmen who were positioning themselves to kill the invaders. Two other soldiers realized his allegiance and turned their guns on him. He shot them both in the head before they had completed their pivot towards him.

The young mercenary spotted a Brother coming up the stairs and nodded to indicate it was clear to pass. He then sped to try to fin Salim who was to be in the dormitories. He had to run, crouched against the wall in order to avoid the friendly and enemy fires that were coming from all directions, indiscernible from one another.

He finally found himself in an interior corridor, protected from the outside hostilities for now and he started picking up the pace until he saw a head peer out of a door entrance. The young sniper immediately stopped and squatted to stabilize his elbow on his knee and aim the visor at the doorway where he had seen movement. The head of a young boy (younger than ten) peered out, his face completely washed out with fear. Barsad looked up from the visor, stunned, then heard a noise behind him. "Hide," he screamed to the boy and turned just fast enough to take down two soldiers. He heard more footsteps up ahead and ran to the open door that led to a pantry, where he found the terrorized child trembling in a corner. Barsad put his weapon on his back and held out a hand for the boy. After a moment of hesitation, the child took it then wrapped his arms around Barsad's waist, desperately seeking comfort. Barsad was taken aback; he put his hand on the boy's head and ruffled the boy's black hair so that he would look up at him.

"It's not safe here, do you have a place to go?" he asked. The child looked at him with tear-filled eyes and shook his head.

Barsad pressed his lips together. They were to kill everyone... He looked around as if anything in the room could tell him what do to. "OK, come with…" he started telling the boy but stopped when a large, strong hand fell on his shoulder. Bane was standing right behind him.

Barsad instinctively held on to the child and said: "He is just a boy. He's innocent," he pleaded, knowing it could mean his own head. Bane looked down at the child and for a moment, his expression relaxed and his eyes seemed clouded, as if his thoughts where bringing him far away. Barsad felt he needed to say more: "Even if he talks, no one will care what happens to this tyrant," he explained, hoping this would be enough to sway his leader that mercy would not cost them. He was surprised how easy it was, when Bane turned his back to him and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Take him through the kitchen so he can exit to the back, then come back and find Salim." He turned around and left. Barsad followed outside but took the opposite direction to go to the kitchen. He picked up the child and told him to keep his head down, nestled in his chest. He had to kill half a dozen men, and a woman who came at them with a knife, before reaching the kitchen that led to the backyard. He ran to the back gate and forced it open. The guard on duty asked him what he was doing and Barsad yelled back that he was saving the child from the carnage. The boy started running down the road, then the mercenary killed the guard, after politely thanking him for letting the child escape.

* * *

Bane had made his way to the warlord's private chambers, gunning down everyone in his path. He preferred hand-to-hand combat, but weapons were a necessary evil when efficiency was paramount. Also, the men he shot down were barely worth killing, so he did not feel shame in not honoring them with a combat death. The warlord was nearly hysterical, still in his night robes. The prostitute in his bed was putting her clothes back on, watching her lover in panic. Bane gave her a distracted glance.

"What's happening out there?" the aged Moroccan lord asked his henchman.

"Your time is done," Bane answered him as he approached and took the man's head into his hands. Realization of what was going to happen distorted the man's face, his eyes bulged out and he soiled himself; the urine dripped lowly on the floor when Bane lifted him up. "Thank you for the weapons and the funds" he told him before pressing his temples until his skull cracked and the man stopped screaming, then dropped inert at Bane's feet. The assassin turned around slowly to go take care of the woman, but he hadn't expected her to be armed and to leap for him. He was able to push her away, but her knife had plunged between the tubing at the front of this mask and yanked out a few connections when she was pushed away.

The influx of analgesic started to malfunction and the pain swiftly took over. Bane tried to put his mask back together but he noticed the severed tube on the floor. His eyesight started to blur and he couldn't reach out for it with his large fingers. He almost lost his balance. The agony had awakened his rage and he ran with heavy steps towards the woman, making the surrounding furniture shake and a few items fall over. His violence was no longer cool and controlled, it was raw and savage. He respected female adversaries enough to fight them with due fervor, but he always preferred to give them as painless a death as he could. There was no way for him to hold or clearly direct his punches now, and his fists beat the whimpering woman until she was unrecognizable and his fury could no longer overtake the pain. He fell down to his knees. Holding himself with a fist on the ground.

He faintly saw a few men come in and he realized he had failed and was going to die at the hands of unworthy men, taken down by a fierce whore who had more fight in her than his retched former employer. It was so absurd, his cringe almost stretched into a smile.

* * *

Barsad had gone back to the dormitory but hadn't found Salim. Among the corpses, he identified two of the men who were sought by the Brotherhood. Apparently, the recruitment effort had not gone well. He decided that the best course of action was to go report to Bane, so he ran towards the warlord's quarters. He found the way littered with bodies and fully expected to find their doomed employer at the end. He killed three guards who were rushing into the bedroom and was surprised to find Bane down on the floor and panting, wheezing in pain, next to a bloodied woman that laid dead next to him.

Bane didn't seem to be bleeding but his mask was damaged and Barsad understood that the woman has somehow found the masked giant's Achilles' heel.

Bane was barely able to make out what had happened, his vision was blurry and veins pulsed on his head from the strain. He had meant to throw a punch at the approaching man but recognized Barsad's voice. His Brother put his arms under his and helped him up. The pain was so great that Bane had trouble breathing and, for a moment, he let his massive body lean over Barsad, whose face pressed against his neck.

The slender gunman had trouble keeping his footing with the weight of Bane pressing on him. "Let me sit you down so I can help you," he said, though his voice was muffled by Bane's shoulder.

Bane made a gesture towards one of his side pocket but he couldn't open it.

Barsad guided him back down so that he would sit and lean his back next to a wardrobe. He then opened Bane's pocket and found a syringe. Bane motioned towards his neck, below he jaw line, where Barsad promptly plunged the syringe. The Head of the Brotherhood had grabbed Barsad's vest and tightly shut his eyes. Finally, he slackened his grip and he opened his eyes.

Bane would feel some side effects from the local anesthesia administered while his mask still released some gas, but he at least could think clearly for a few minutes. "Thank you Brother…" he said in a strained voice. He then started reconnecting the tubes on his mask. Barsad attempted to help him but Bane pushed his hand away. "No," he hissed. Though he recognized Barsad had save him, he let no one touch his mask – not anymore. He stood up and went to find the missing tubing. Barsad followed him and spotted the small metal cylinder and quickly picked it up. He carefully handed it to Bane, who nodded.

The hulking man looked down at the damaged piece; "it will have to be welded", he said. For now (he though)t, he needed a temporary solution. He found a mirror and a candlestick, which he lit with the matches he found in the same drawer. He positioned the tube to align it to the connector pushing the pieces together, letting his head fall back and holding the mirror above his face.

Barsad decided to go shut the door, not daring to try to help in any other way. Once the piece was fitted, it was precariously staying in place, so Bane took the candle, while holding the mirror and let the wax fall down over the reassembled connection. Some liquid wax fell in some of the holes of the mesh at the front of the mask and would burn his damage flesh, but the anesthesia protected him from feeling the new injury for now. He let enough melted wax drip on his mask to form a crude paste. The gas was still passing through. He was already having a headache from the double dosage, but he wasn't feeling crippling pangs. He took a headscarf from the fallen warlord and wrapped it around his head, so that his men would not see his temporary repair. It was one thing to have his Brothers see him stitch his own wounds shut, but he couldn't let them witness how vulnerable his mask really made him, not all of them.

He turned around towards Barsad and glared at him. Barsad did not budge. "You have saved my life twice," he told him. "The mansion is ours, we can have your personal supplies carried here soon, … and give you time as we settle in," Barsad responded calmly, meaning for Bane to understand he would have the time to properly repair his mask without anyone being the wiser.

"I owe you my life twice, Brother," Bane repeated. "I will not forget."

Barsad nodded appreciatively. "Shall I go get your things? Then I can bring you Salim."

Bane blinked in approval. Barsad opened the door to leave.

"The boy made it?" Bane asked.

"Yes, yes he did," Barsad answered with a smile, before shutting the door behind him.


	4. Brains and Sinew

**Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.**

**Author's note : Thank you again to everyone who took the time to read the stories and to review. I try to answer personally to each review, but if I didn't already - please know that I cherish your words. **

* * *

**IV. Brains and Sinew**

In the weeks that followed the warlord's demise, Bane's Brotherhood had transformed the mansion into a contemplative training compound. It was no longer the haven of drinking and whoring; the halls were now devoid of excess, and had incense and candles burning to help inspire meditation and peace outside of the violent training grounds. Bane was molding Brotherhood to the League of Shadows.

He had told the Brothers about the elite organization, and even vaguely about his time in the pit and how Ra's al Ghul had made him a warrior afterwards. He did not elaborate, but he did reveal he had been forced to leave the League. He told them how he believed actions should be swift as well as planned, how theatricality had to be balanced with straightforwardness, hinting subtly that there were some ideological differences between him and the head of the League. Since all the men Bane had recruited were hardened killers, they could appreciate his brutality as well as the peace this meditative sanctuary brought them.

In addition to perfecting their skills with firearms, Bane insisted they learn hand-to-hand combat, fighting with them during training, holding back just enough not to cause permanent damage, but otherwise, he always gave his trainees the honor of a brutal assault. This morning Barsad had been selected to wrestle with their leader.

They were both bare-chested, and had no weapons. Bane was twice as big as Barsad. At first sight, it was hardly a fair fight. Bane addressed it: "Building your body up will give you an advantage in a show of strength," he explained calmly while walking around Barsad and looking at the assembled Brotherhood surrounding them. "However, the most important muscle to flex in a fight is your mind. Ideally, you have to assess your opponent's weakness, but if you cannot find any, you must at least be able to assess your own weaknesses and suppress them with you strengths. Any opponent can be beaten if you fight him intelligently. I was once taken down by a very young and slender woman, on more than one occasion..." he revealed, his words trailing off as he took position in front of his young Brother. Barsad first thought he was referring to the whore that had damaged his mask, but by the reverential tone, it was obvious the masked giant was talking about someone else. His trainer had stayed silence for a few moments, just before he lunged towards him.

The fight lasted longer than one would have expected, mostly due to Bane stopping just before the kill to give instructions. He praised how nimbly his young Brother avoided his hits, though Barsad's agility was almost no match to Bane's. When weapons were allowed, Bane threw a blade at Barsad's feet. The young man looked down at it, hesitant to use it, but his mentor nodded to press him on (knowing he could do little damage). After a few hits in the air, Bane caught Barsad's arm and folded his elbow upward so that the blade bit into his young assailant's own shoulder. Barsad cringed but refocused once his eyes met Bane's.

He had been too panicked, that's why he had missed. That's always why you miss a shot, he thought. Being a sniper, he had learned that calm and patience were essential – much more so that skill. Barsad slowed down his breathing, held Bane's gaze, then he pushed his leg up to his opponents thigh and used it to swing away from his grasp. Barsad turned a complete rotation and aimed his armed hand towards the big man's chest, but then threw the knife as Bane blocked him and he grabbed it with the other hand and lodged the tip of the blade near one of the tubing at the front of his mask. It made Bane pause for a second – if he flapped away Barsad's hand, the tubing could be damaged and he could be defeated, as his apprentice knew. Barsad didn't let the rest of the crowd notice it; his head was blocking the view. He gave a sly smile to Bane, who was frowning, then he jerked as if Bane had twisted his other wrist, and he swiftly slashed one of his mentor's pectorals, let him disarm him and put him down on the ground with brute force.

"Very good," Bane said, helping him up. By the lines around his eyes, Barsad knew he meant it and was smiling. It was clear Bane could have destroyed him right there for almost exposing his weakness, but Barsad wanted him to know that his secret was safe with him, and he was content that his teacher gave him the few moments of faith to let him prove it. Bane had earned his men's trust by showing them trust; feigned or otherwise, the trust he showed was always convincing.

A few Brothers helped Barsad up and patted him on the back in congratulations. They crudely bandaged his bleeding shoulder and led him inside so that he could clean himself up, while Bane was already calling someone else to fight him.

* * *

Barsad had showered quickly, but the bandage on his shoulder was oozing blood so he went to their infirmary. They had not recruited anyone with true medical knowledge yet, but they had gathered a lot of supplies and the Brothers who knew first aid had shown the rest. Bane had sewn up many of his men's wounds and his own. Barsad had seen him do it.

The young mercenary looked intensely at his reflection in the mirror, tightened his lips in resolution and tore off the bandage. He couldn't avoid a muffled groan since the fabric had stuck to his skin because of the blood and a fresh red geyser spat out. He immediately drowned the slash in alcohol and felt his stomach go up his throat. He grabbed the sink, then willed himself to get the thread and the needle. He turned around so he could see the wound. It was like he had a grotesque mouth on his shoulder. He neared the needle's head towards the flesh a few times, taking his hand away every time the metal touched the injured skin.

His chest started to heave as he drew large breaths to give himself courage. When he saw the hulking figure of Bane approach behind him, he immediately plunged the needled in the skin and his lower lip twitched. Bane eyed him closely, apparently unperturbed by his own bleeding cuts.

Barsad was straining to pass the thread through while trying to prevent his eyes from watering.

"Do you need a local anesthesia?" Bane asked.

"No, it's nothing. It's just awkward to stitch, that's all," Barsad boasted.

The big man put his hand around the shoulder and took the needle head. He squeezed the skin together to complete the first stitch. It took all of Barsad's willpower not to yank his shoulder away, but he couldn't control the lines between his brow and his teeth from grinding.

"A better lie is always rooted in plausibility," Bane said while pausing between stitches. "It would have been more believable had you simply said 'I can take it', since we both know it is not 'nothing' and that grown men can pass out from this type of pain."

Barsad nodded. "I can take it."

"You don't have to," Bane said plunging a syringe Barsad didn't know he had around the wound and waiting a few minutes for the anesthesia to take affect before he finished stitching him up.

"Tomorrow, I must go to India for a few days. Salim will stay here. You will come with me," Bane stated before he left.

Barsad rubbed over the newly stitched-up skin and smiled privately.


	5. Simple Choices

**Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.**

**Author's note : Barsad and Bane have established trust and are sharing more experiences together, which serve as a building block for a relationship more closely resembling friendship that what Bane normally has. Here we see a ruthless Bane, but who follows a certain code and a certain idea of fairness, which Barsad embraces as well. Thank you again to everyone who is following this story.  
**

* * *

**V. Simple Choices  
**

Barsad was driving an armored Jeep on a deserted road to a remote private airstrip. It was just after midnight. Bane (who was wearing a scarf over his head in case they were stopped on the road) was sitting on the back seat in silence. The sharpshooter often shot glances at his leader through the rear-view mirror, but the masked man seemed deep in thought, so he didn't try to start a conversation.

The silence was eventually broken when Bane looked back at him through the mirror. "You've secured the crew?" he asked simply, pretending not to notice Barsad had almost veered off the road when their eyes locked.

"Yes, only two, as per instructions. I had to pay fifteen percent more to the pilot – he went on and on about risk."

Barsad had been sent to broker the private flight the day before. He had to ensure a limited amount of people would be there and that they would keep their mouths shut about their passengers.

"That pilot will soon learn that greed is a pricey flaw," Bane said gravely.

Barsad hesitated, then asked: "You mean to kill him?"

"Not before he brings us back," Bane answered in a musical tone that was not congruent with his ice-cold eyes. Barsad couldn't sustain his gaze very long and looked back in front of him.

"You've told him what was required of him and the consequences of not following through, yes?" Bane asked his henchman.

"Yes."

"Such men who fail to recognize a fair proposal... – and the price I instructed you to offer was more than fair; it was twice what the Moroccan gave him when he hired him; such men, they don't understand the gravity of commitment, nor do they honor it. I fully expect him to no comply with everything we've asked sooner rather than later. He will betray us, and then I will kill him."

Barsad was fairly content at the explanation, even more so about the fact that his leader offered it. "Fair enough," Barsad responded, looking in the mirror with a smile.

He kept his smile when he heard the low laugh coming from behind.

They got to the plane where the pilot was waiting with three armed men. Barsad turned to look at Bane, who winked as if to say "didn't I tell you so". Bane took a handgun from the case he was carrying and held it to his side. Barsad hung his riffle on his shoulder and kept it in front of him, then took a large duffel bag. They both went out of the car slowly and walked towards the plane, stopping a few feet from the four men who were pointing their guns at them. Bane put down his case and Barsad put down the duffel bag and put his hand on his gun. The armed men reestablished their aim and repositioned their stance in a menacing way.

"What's this?" Barsad asked."You were supposed to be only two," he observed, without mentioning that they were armed.

"I've seen how you dealt with my former employer, and I saw your face during our negotiations. I believe I need protection," the pilot declared.

"You do," Bane interjected calmly, "but you'll find few things will protect you against your own stupidity."

He gave a furtive look to Bane and turned to him. "Bringing a man like you over international airspace is very risky, but as you can see, I'm not as foolish as you think I am," he said pointing to his men who kept a shooting stance.

Barsad saw Bane's hand twitch subtly on the side of his leg. The sniper gently put his finger on the trigger and kept an eye on Bane. He knew how this was going to end.

Bane looked around to verify they were only dealing with these four. In a flash, he pulled the gun and shot two of the men, one in the throat who went down immediately and the other in the shoulder, then he ducked as the third one shot at him, right before he was silenced by Barsad. The pilot shot in Barsad's direction but Bane kick his man aside and shot the pilot in the knee cap, not wanting to injure his hands. The man raised his gun again at the advancing mercenary, Bane shot him in the hip which made him jolt and allowed the big man to reach the pilot and take the gun away. Barsad followed and finished off the man Bane had first injured.

Bane sat the pilot up so he would look at him. "These injuries will not prevent you from flying us to our destination. You can keep the extra fifteen percent you took, for your family."

"I have no family," the man spat out defiantly since he recognized the hidden threat in Bane's sentence.

Bane just slightly moved his head towards Barsad. He had told his man to make sure the pilot had something to lose, if not, to find another pilot.

Barsad had done his due diligence. "Your grandmother is still alive, and she is the one who raised you. You send money every month like clockwork and you send more when you get high-paying jobs – like this one," he coolly explained.

"She's at death's door anyway," the man bluffed, but his eyes told another story.

"We will send the money to her once we reach our destination," Bane explained. The man looked frantic as he realized he wasn't going to make the journey back.

"I'll crash the plane," he yelled.

"The choice is simple; you have three options," Bane said, sounding amused: "You take us to India, I will give you a swift death, send your earnings to your grandmother and honor your monthly payments until she passes; or, I kill you here, take your plane, find another pilot and let your grandmother die; or, if you try to crash mid-flight, we will kill you, eject out if need be, and make sure she dies a very painful dead. The choice is yours," Bane concluded with apparent glee, but, once again, his eyes showed no joy.

The crying man chose option one.

Barsad sat in the cockpit with the pilot during the entire flight, and made sure the latter heard him give detailed instructions by phone before departure, about how to deal with the man's grandmother if faith should be unkind during their travel. The man didn't plead and was surprisingly calm. He didn't try to fight and the flight went without a hitch from then on until their arrival in India. Barsad respected the man a little more for that.

When he shut the engine after immobilizing the plane in a bunker, he turned around to Bane, who had come in, and asked: "You will take care of her? You promise?"

"Yes," Bane replied simply as he approached him.

"Can you send her fruit on her birthday? She likes mandarin oranges especially. It's on March 18th."

Bane nodded just before he broke the man's neck. Barsad noted the birth date and her fruit preference on a notepad. Bane nodded in appreciation.

Barsad had prearranged to have a truck with a full tank of gas driven and left near the bunker, with the keys in the ignition. Bane was impressed by the foresight of his companion. They locked the bunker with a large chain, then took the truck.

Bane gave Barsad the address of his analgesic supplier, though Barsad wasn't aware of it until Bane briefly explained that this man produced the canisters that dispensed a painkiller in the form of a gas filtered through the piping of the mask. Barsad already knew that the mask was his commander's Achilles' heel; giving his Brother, who had proven trustworthy time and time again, this bit of extra information didn't put Bane more at risk, so he confided in Barsad to a certain extent.

"You have questions?" Bane asked when he saw Barsad open and close his mouth.

"Can you remove it – the mask?"

"Very briefly, and only with a local anesthesia. The pain is excruciating."

Barsad did not doubt these words, for a man like Bane would never exaggerate pain. "Is it bearable?" Barsad dared to inquire.

Bane paused, wondering how much he would reveal. Memories of Talia – which he normally kept at bay during the day – came flooding in and he closed his eyes to shut the door on them. "There are worst pains," was all he said.

Barsad asked nothing more. He himself had past pains he never wanted to share. They didn't need to.

They stayed overnight at the man's place. He was a chemist who talked to himself with great excitement. Barsad ate with his family while Bane stayed in his room. Once the dinner over, the young sniper thanked his host and walked up to Bane's room to share news he had received.

"Come in," he heard Bane say after he identified himself.

He carefully opened the door. Bane had his back to him, facing the fireplace. His mask was on a table by his side, and Barsad could make out that a tube from tank was attached to his arm. "Yes?" Bane said, his voice surprisingly soft. Barsad was quite stunned to realize how much the mask distorted his voice.

"I've received a strange message from the base. They think there is a spy around, a particularly stealth one. Salim reports that some of the men have seen a dark figure in the forest and around the walls, and once in the kitchen. But, whatever it was, it disappeared into thin air. So, they are either dealing with a ghost, or a possible assassin," Barsad explained dispassionately keeping his eyes on the long scar running down the middle of Bane's back.

The hulking man's breathing stopped. He put a bowl on the side, in which he had mashed strawberries and oatmeal, and wiped his mouth, without ever turning his head. He stood up and walked to a nearby sink, dragging the gas tank with him, and never letting Barsad see his face. Even when he came up to the sink, he approached it in such a way that the mirror on the wall didn't catch his reflection. I was obvious he was used to avoiding mirrors.

"Has anyone been attacked?"Bane asked. He had immediately thought of the League.

"No."

"We'll shorten our stay here and go back tomorrow," Bane told Barsad while he was washing his hands in the sink. "Can you find a new pilot?"

"I'll get on it," Barsad answered without hesitation.

"Very well. Thank you," Bane replied then jerked his head to signal Barsad to leave. He had complete faith that his man would find a pilot; he was growing more and more impressed with the young sharpshooter as he got to know him. Once the door shut, he took in the sight of his scared face; it seemed even more ravaged that ever. Perhaps it was his dead eyes that made him look so monstrous, he thought. He had believed Ra's al Ghul was going to let him rot in peace, away from the League of Shadows, but he might have been mistaken. He didn't fear his former Brothers, only Ra's could kill him, but maybe he meant to deplete his new brotherhood. His men were good, but no match yet for the League's assassins. He had to go back and protect them, and he would with his life. That was a simple choice.


	6. Beware of the Shadows

**Disclaimer : I do not own any of these characters, which are based on Christopher Nolan's TDKR.**

**Author's note : I didn't mean to take so long before updating but I've been working long hours and the holidays added an extra dose of crazy that I am still working through. This may be seen as a slower chapter but it's meant to establish how solid a brotherhood Bane is building and how it reflects on his leadership.  
**

**Thank you to all of you who read and enjoy this story and for your reviews!**

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**VI. Beware of the Shadows**

Bane and Barsad had left the chemist's home just after the break of dawn, taking two dozen cases containing the analgesic-filled canisters and anesthetic syringes the mercenary leader needed to keep his mask functioning. They made their way without trouble to the hangar in the field where they had left their plane. Barsad had called in an old comrade who had been a military pilot; a few phone calls and he located him in Pakistan. Barsad was brief but convincing; repeating the words Bane had said when he recruited him. Barsad knew Iraj was a restless soul searching for purpose; he had thought of proposing him to Bane for the Brotherhood for some time. Iraj had hopped on an overnight flight as he didn't have his own plane. Barsad could perhaps have found a local pilot but they needed to establish trust with whomever they hired, and they had very little time to do so. Barsad decided that he would rather deal with someone he knew and with whom he had risked his life before.

The tall Iranian was standing near the bunker alone - no vehicle in sight. He had done as he was told and had been dropped off by a cab. Barsad stopped the car and looked at Bane who was looking at the stranger with an indecipherable expression. They got out of the car and Barsad nodded subtly to acknowledge the man, who returned the nod.

Bane walked up to the man slowly, with long determined steps. Iraj swallowed nervously, but didn't step back.

"This is Iraj, he's able to fly small aircrafts, and large carriers," Barsad explained to his commander. Bane took hold of his vest as he often did and didn't take his eyes off the man; Iraj was in his mid thirties but looked ten years older, sporting a long unkept black beard. The masked man made a long pause – long enough for the pilot to shift his footing and shoot a few glances at Barsad. The sniper tried not to show his worry, but he was becoming nervous at his leader's reaction.

"What is your price?" Bane asked - his amplified voice and almost musical tone surprising the man in front of him.

Iraj swallowed again and answered: "Barsad told me I could find purpose with you. If that is true, that is my price."

Bane's eyes shifted subtly towards his sharpshooter, eyeing him from the corner of his eyes. Barsad recognized the pronounced crow's feet spreading from the corner of his eyes meant that Bane was smiling behind the mask. He didn't dare smile back – not yet; for a smile from Bane could mean a great many things. Iraj stood his ground, as if he was ready to face any reaction.

"Indeed, I believe I can. You will fly us back to our base. Barsad has the coordinates".

The large man gave an approval nod and went to unlock the bunker housing the plane.

Bane didn't speak again during the trip and Barsad limited himself to sharing flight information with the pilot. He and Iraj never had long conversations; they never needed to.

Once they had reached the Algerian flight pad they had left 48 hours before, Iraj brought up the plane to where three corpses had started to rot in the sun. The pilot looked at Barsad, silently asking him if he should be worried, but Barsad shook his head. Iraj accepted the response. Barsad made a mental note to come back later and get rid of the bodies. Bane didn't even look at them when they stepped out of the plane and walked towards the jeep they had left there. Bane started putting the cases on the back seat. He let Barsad help but said "No, thank you" to Iraj in a polite tone that didn't invite insistence, when the pilot tried to help. Wanting to prove his usefulness, the new recruit took it upon himself to drag the bodies together. Barsad smiled in approval and was relieved to see Bane shared it. He approached the pile of remains and poured gasoline on them to set them ablaze. Bane walked slowly towards them and watched the fire, falling deep in thought.

Fire always reminded him of Talia, and they always stirred his heart from its torpor, if only for a moment, until he shut the memories out.

His two men exchanged looks, and took a few steps behind. It was obvious to Barsad that the flames, not the bodies, had caught the gaze of his leader. Bane suddenly shook his head as if he had realized he was caught in a dream and strutted with large strides towards the jeep, telling the two men to follow him by a jerk of his head. Barsad was fairly confident that Iraj had been accepted by Bane and it was confirmed when they arrived at the mansion and his commander introduced Iraj as their new Brother to the rest of the men.

Salim was quick to come see Bane and tell him of the sightings around the base. No harm had come to anyone just yet, but there were some rumblings in the village of competing mercenary cells were assembling and trying to recruit members or get information about the Brotherhood. They had changed the gun-shipping routes, but they had felt a presence on the new path yesterday, perhaps a spy.

"Who is their leader?" Bane asked, referring to the competing cells.

"A General Madoo. He was a rival of the Moroccan and now hopes to seize his gun pipeline," Salim answered.

"Where is he based?" Bane asked.

"He is not here; he is in a jungle in Tunisia."

"Then that is where we will go. Barsad, assemble two dozen men. Be ready in three hours," Bane finished ordering and brought four of his cartridge cases to his room, then came back down for the rest. No one tried to touch them. Once he had stacked them near a wall, he noticed the top cover on his bed was crumpled, as if someone had laid on it. He knew none of his men would have come, since he kept the door locked. He advanced towards the bed and noticed a piece of fabric from under the cover. He pulled it off slowly and discovered a colorful embroidered blanket, one like he had once given Talia as a reminder of her mother. His breathing became ragged. _This was Ra's doing_, he thought; _he had come here to torment him and finish him off - not content to let him rot away from the League_. His hand curled into fists as he grabbed the cover and he struggled not to let tears of rage escape his eyes, infuriated by the taunt. His bed had been very carefully staged to let him know they were here, and that they had let themselves be glimpsed by his men only to disconcert him. "Curse you Ra's," he tempered. He had always known, deep down, that Ra's wouldn't be satisfied by exile - only his death would satisfy him, but Bane had decided he wouldn't let his former mentor get it so easily.

Bane was shaken from his thoughts by a knock on the door.

* * *

Barsad had chosen the men and they had prepared the weapons. They had confirmed the whereabouts of the General and he had briefed Iraj, after showing him to his new quarters. He was on his way to see Bane that he had just caught a glimpse of a shadow. It moved like a specter but it had a definite human shape, like that of a teenage boy, who slipped out of sight as soon as he turned. When he went to investigate, he didn't find any trace of anyone. He stayed immobile for a while, trying to listen to any other noise, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The ghost stories were getting to him, he feared, so he decided to keep quiet and simply inform their leader that they were ready once he got to his room. Bane didn't wait for him to say a word and opened the door with a bag on his shoulder and strode to the courtyard where he looked around until the chosen company was assembled. He told Salim they would be back in a few days, to postpone the gun runs till their return. He then oddly looked around and warned his men: "Stay vigilant, and beware of the shadows"


End file.
